


How the light gets in

by tatarrific



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-01 19:14:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2784530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatarrific/pseuds/tatarrific
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So - I can't lie - this came about as a product of my freak out (yes, I was one of those people) about the introduction of Shay in S3 and what it all means.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Keep breaking your heart till it opens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Felix.” Sarah smiles tightly, raising her eyebrows. “Who’s your friend?”
> 
> “Put your Alison face away, please.” Realizing he’s not getting an answer to his question, Felix flounces on the sofa, coat carelessly dropping on the floor and waves an arm toward the visitor. “This is Shay - Shay, the angry one is Sarah, the lesbian one is Cosima - and Shay,” he leans in toward Sarah, smirking, “actually comes from Alison. Via Ramon. Or some such thing.”

Sarah pauses at the door, observing. Cosima is curled up on Felix’s couch, a book on her blanketed lap, but Sarah can tell that her mind is elsewhere; one of her hands is splayed across the open page of the book in front of her, and the other is absently stroking her lower lip, gaze adrift. She looks drawn, the pallor of her skin stark against the deep orange of the blanket on her lap, the vibrant burgundy of her too-big sweater, but Sarah reminds herself that Cosima is getting better, is a great deal better than she was a mere 20 days ago. The science of it was over her head, but the stem cells harvested from Helena’s embryos and injected into Cosima’s uterus and lungs have not only stabilized her health, but seem to be having regenerative powers too. The oxygen tank is gone, and the coughing which still rattles her thin frame is no longer followed by blood. Still, the patch is temporary and much depends on Cosima’s work on Duncan’s cypher.

Putting down the bag of groceries she procured, Sarah shuffles toward the couch, worry evident on her face. Of late, though, Cosima has seemed more distracted, the feverish focus on the book Duncan left behind gone and Sarah thinks it may have something to do with the infrequent and vague texts her sister has been getting from Delphine, a different mobile number every time. ‘I’m okay. Missing you. Je t’aime,’ was the last one from more than a week ago, and Sarah knows that the worry, the uncertainty is taking its toll on the scientist.

“Oi,” Sarah gently nudges Cosima’s shoulder and receives a startled, wan smile in return. “Scoot over, will ya?”

Cosima hunches over, shifting forward and Sarah slides in behind her, settling against the handrest of the sofa and pulling Cosima back into a half-reclining position against her chest. Her sister feels fragile, bird-like against her and Sarah is amazed again by their connection, all of them, the familial bond between them as strong as it is new. The surge of protectiveness she feels for them all, Cosima, Helena, even Alison, no longer surprises, but comforts her.

“Whatcha reading?”

Cosima resettles slightly, her dreads scratching against Sarah’s chin and lifts the book up so that Sarah can see over her shoulder. “Rumi. He was this 13th century Sufi mystic who wrote about the union with the divine.”

Sarah cocks an eyebrow, smiling wryly. “Of course he was. I didn’t take you for being religious, Cos.”

She receives a dry chuckle in response, Cosima lightly digging her elbow into Sarah’s ribs. “Hardly. He writes about the union with god in terms of reconnecting with a lover and just,” she shifts slightly, voice growing quieter, “it’s beautiful. Reading it helps me take a break from all,” she waves her hand in the general direction of the coffee table with its piles of printouts, scans, xrays, Duncan’s book perched precariously on top, “-that.”

Sarah peers at the book and catches the verse Cosima’s forefinger is brushing against. _“You have to keep breaking your heart until it opens.”_ She opens her mouth, wants to comfort, but says nothing. Cosima’s sadness is palpable, a diffused bleakness dimming her eyes, weighing down each smile she forces out. Neither she nor Alison have been able to draw back the veil of melancholy for longer than a few fleeting moments at a time and the listlessness that accompanies it, only partially due to Cosima’s illness, seems wholly unnatural against Cosima’s normal vivacity.

Instead, Sarah rests her chin against Cosima’s shoulder, peering over at the book and says, “Read to me?”

This time Cosima’s chuckle is mirthful as she half-turns to peer at Sarah. “Like daughter like mother, much? Okay, let me find a good one.”

As Cosima’s voice drifts over her, Sarah’s thoughts turn to her meeting with Siobhan from that morning.

_“I don’t - what does that mean, S?” She is pacing, the confines of Siobhan’s kitchen only heightening her agitation. This is not new, the conflicting mix of emotions she feels whenever she talks to her foster mother, but the new layer - the lack of trust in someone she had always taken to stand solidly behind her word - is making her twitchy, corrosive anger pulsing in the pit of her stomach. “What does ‘ceasefire’ mean here? You’re telling me to trust them - Dyad and Topside - just take their word for it?”_

_Siobhan exhales then schools her features into a calm mask, assuming a patient tone. Sarah grits her teeth, reminded of all the times they’d squared off against each other in this kitchen, set on edge. “Luv, I didn’t say ‘trust’, I just told you what Marion told me. She claims they were finally able to tame Rachel’s fraction within Dyad, at least for the time being, and that she was able to get Cosima’s friend.. Scotty, is it? released. Poor lad is heading back to his family and Marion claims Topside will keep them safe. And…,” Siobhan hesitates and Sarah looks up, steps closer. “What? S, what is it?”_

_“She also said that they were able to track down Delphine and are bringing her back. She’s to take over for Rachel.”_

_Sarah runs her hand through her hair in frustration. “Take over for Rach- god damn it, what does that_ mean _?” She freezes when the full extent of what Siobhain said registers. “Wait - bringing her back - here? When?”_

_Siobhan looks down into her tea mug, shrugs. “I dunno, luv. Could be today, could be in a month. I thought you’d want to tell Cosima either way, though.”_

She does not want to tell Cosima, though, not if there is a chance that S is lying to her, or Marion is lying to S. To kindle this hope in Cosima for naught would surely break her heart again and Sarah does not want to be party to it, is not sure Cosima could handle another disappointment. If S’s story is true, Cos will get to see Delphine soon enough and it will be a happy surprise. If not, well…

Cosima’s voice trails off and Sarah squeezes her shoulder gently.

“You totally, completely zoned out on me, didn’t you?”

“Ah,” she grimaces, caught, “Yeah, poetry and such is not really my strength. Cos-”

Cosima shifts on the couch, moving away in order to face her fully. Sarah notices the reflexive way she wraps her arms around herself, thin-wristed hands pressing into shoulders as if to comfort, or protect. “Cos, you okay?”

Cosima twists her lips wryly, looking away. “Yeah, you know, as can be expected. Helena bought me some time, and I think I’ve made some headway with Duncan’s cypher. I just wish-”

“No, I mean,” she pauses, weighing her words, “I mean.. I know you worry about, about Delphine and just, I- she’s going to be fine, yeah?”

Sarah can hear the hitch in Cosima’s breath at Delphine’s name, see the way her jaw works before she clears her throat, says softly, “Yeah, well - you don’t know that, Sarah. And I don’t- it’s-” she sighs, hand angrily squeezing her eyes under her glasses, “I just wish I knew either way, you know, if she’s okay or not. If she’s off somewhere, doing Dyad business, or…” shrugs, voice breaking, “or if they got to her.”

Alarmed, Sarah reaches out, her resolve faltering. “Hey, no, listen, Siobhan said that-” The rattle of the loft’s door cuts her short and they both start, turning toward the noise.

“Oi, oi, girlscouts, I come bearing gifts!” Felix pauses at the door, taking in the plateau, the glint in Cosima’s eyes, Sarah’s rigidity. “Everything okay here?”

“Holy guacamole, batman! You were not kidding, were you?” The girl standing next to Felix and shamelessly gawking at them is tiny, elfin and something in her open, guileless demeanor seems to Sarah disconcertingly, nigglingly familiar. Her dark blonde hair hangs loosely about her shoulders, startlingly blue eyes wide on a youthful face, mouth agape.

“Felix.” Sarah smiles tightly, raising her eyebrows. “Who’s your friend?”

“Put your Alison face away, please.” Realizing he’s not getting an answer to his question, Felix flounces on the sofa, coat carelessly dropping on the floor and waves an arm toward the visitor. “This is Shay - Shay, the angry one is Sarah, the lesbian one is Cosima - and Shay,” he leans in toward Sarah, smirking, “actually comes _from Alison_. Via Ramon. Or some such thing.”

“Hey,” Shay waves her hand timidly in a half-arc, bracelets jangling. “Totally great to meet you both, and totally sorry for, like, coming unannounced.”

Sarah tilts her head in confusion. _Who does she remind me of?_ “I still don’t-”

“Right, right.” Sensing an opening, the newcomer sheds her coat as well, revealing a bright mismatch of colors underneath, and starts digging through a large totebag. “So, must be totally confusing, but your sister asked Ramon if he had any,” she pauses, eyebrows wiggling, “herbal remedies for her twin - triplet? - who was having some bronchitis issues - Cosima, right? Rad hair, love it - was thinking dreads myself, but then figured I’m so short, you know, I’d end up looking like one of those troll dolls, know what I mean, the ones that are all hair and, like, a tiny body, so figured nah, keep it simple - anyway, ah! Here it is!”

She pauses long enough to brandish two ziploc bags from her tote, beaming at Sarah and Cosima. “Bronchitis, right, can’t smoke so Ramon rang me up - microbiotic cuisine is my specialty, baking, actually - and voila! Here,” she raises one hand, “are my special brownies, and here,” raising the other, “are my gluten-free, chia-seed packed chocolate chip cookies for, you know, the munchies. We just need to make sure to,” she shakes the bags slightly, “keep track of which is which.”

 _Holy. Shite._ Sarah’s gaze flits from Shay to Cosima, their wide grins nearly identical, then side-eyes Felix who raises his eyebrows at her in startled agreement. _They are the same person._

“Shut up!” Cosima is up, eagerly examining the bags. “This is, like, beyond awesome. May I?”

Shay beams at her. “Be my guest! Also,” a smaller ziplock comes out of her tote next, “I brought some tea which should boost your immune system. It’s my secret recipe, and it works like a charm - elderberry fights infection, chamomile soothes, astralgus helps balance your energy, and, the most important one, jiaogulan brings it all together in healing harmony.” She cocks her head, pausing for a moment. “Well, not so secret anymore, I guess. Anyway, let’s brew you some of that to go with the sweets and then I’ll need you to lie down for me. The couch will do.”

Sarah’s raised eyebrows match Cosima’s who sputters around a mouthful of brownie. “Excuse me?”

Shay motions to the couch. “I’ll need you to lie down. For Reiki. I could feel your tension radiating from, like, the hallway.”

Cosima, bewildered, looks over to Felix who only shrugs helplessly and mouths ' _Alison'_. Sarah can see realization wash over Cosima’s face and holds her breath. Alison meant well with this gesture, reaching out in her own special way - part mother hen, part control freak, but she may have underestimated how proud and private Cosima could be. For her to accept this kind of attention would be to admit vulnerability in a way she had not done before. Sarah sees her gaze fall from Felix’s face down to her hands still holding the brownie. When she looks up at Shay a moment later, her smirk is firmly in place but her eyes belie the lightheartedness. “Alright, but I’ll have to be _properly_ stoned before we go there.”

Shay beams at her, visibly relieved. “Cool! Well, you eat up, and I will go brew some tea. You two want some, too?”

Sarah smiles softly at Cosima, who in turn lifts her half eaten brownie in a half-salute before taking another bite. “Nah, we’re cool. I, uh, should go get Kira from school, it’s almost two. Fe, you coming?”

Following her cue, Felix strides to the door and slides it open. She picks up her jacket and joins him, following the chatter in the background.

“Nu-huh! You’re reading Rumi? I love Rumi! Look, I got a quote of his done on my arm.”

“Whoah, that is so beautiful! What is that, Arabic?”

“Persian - not that I can read it, but I absolutely loved the way it looked.”

“It’s gorgeous - what does it say?”

Throwing one last glance back, she sees Cosima bending over Shay’s forearm, carefully tracing the tattoo there with the tip of her finger while the other woman is gesticulating wildly with her other arm, still prattling away. Alison did good with this one, after all. Cosima could use a bit of a distraction, meet someone new - get out of her own head for a little while. Still, she can’t help but think, if Siobhan’s intel is inaccurate, this may prove to be nothing more than a temporary bandaid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Allow me to thank [ jaybear1701](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jaybear1701) and [arabybizarre](http://archiveofourown.org/users/arabybizarre/pseuds/arabybizarre) who have, after some serious whinging and puppy looks from yours truly, most graciously agreed to beta this for me. A note of wisdom here – if you want to get better at something, seek assistance from those who excel at it. They have tried their best to make this work a bit more presentable for public consumption, and if you do happen to find it readable, I have only them to thank for it.


	2. An unanswered prayer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Toronto might have meant danger and Dyad, but she knew that what kept her from boarding the plane to Canada, even as it became harder and harder to recall with clarity the full brilliance of Cosima's face upturned toward her, smiling, was the thought that the fading memory was all that was left to her.

She watches the towncar’s tail lights flash as it rounds the corner, disappearing out of sight, waits a bit longer, weary, exhales. It doesn’t feel real, standing here, alone, the graffiti-covered alley yawning to her right, her pulse tripping with anticipation at the thought of what waits for her at the other end. Delphine runs her hand through her hair, fingers snagging on tangled locks, stands rooted to the spot.

It has been nearly a month since she slipped out of Dyad’s grasp en route to Frankfurt, a maneuver planned during the interminable hours of her transatlantic flight. Rachel’s instructions were clear, clipped: meet the Dyad contact at the arrivals in Frankfurt, find them, follow them. A new apartment, a new office awaited her, along with further instructions.

Instead of meeting her handler at the international arrivals gate in Frankfurt, she followed the signs to transfer flights, heart jackhammering in her throat, and booked a one-way ticket to the first flight heading out from that terminal - the flight about to board to Heathrow. With no carry-on and having already checked in, she knew there was a chance that her handler might fall for the ruse, assume she actually boarded the Heathrow flight. Instead, she walked, hunched over, eyes darting at shadows, to the domestic arrivals terminal, withdrew the maximum daily amount from the ATM, and took a taxi to the train station.

There she bought a disposable mobile, texted _‘Got away. Je t’aime de tout mon coeur. Bon courage. Don’t text back. e.p.’_ before leaving it on the bench at the station. Four hours later she disembarked in Basel, and after four more hours started a day-long bus journey to her final destination. Even with their extensive files on her, she was sure it would take Dyad a while to track her to a little village in Bosnia, her connection to the man living there as brief as it was tenuous.

She throws another nervous glance in the direction where the car disappeared, then turns to the alley, takes a tentative step. None of it seems real, not being here now, unsure of what awaits her at the loft at the end of the alley, nor showing up at Amir’s farm nearly a month ago, unannounced and ragged with worry and lack of sleep. He was not there, away on business his wife had said, looking at her, this bedraggled, strange woman, with curiosity and surprise but no suspicion in her wide blue eyes, and Delphine, faced with this final complication after 48 hours of mindlessly forging ahead, faltered and fell silent, defeated. “Selma,” the woman had said then, grasping her cold hand warmly, and pulled her across the threshold, opening their home to this stranger, “come in, we were about to eat.”

And that was where Amir, her one-time sweetheart from the first year of university, found her when he came back two days later, at his dining room table, laughing at another tale Selma was spinning in her heavily-accented English, the two of them tending to the couple’s twin boys. It was then that she filled in the vague explanation she had offered to Selma, as the three of them sat over brandy snifters after the children were put to bed.

It all came out of her in a rush. Her trajectory after she and Amir amicably parted ways in the University, her sharp ambition evident even back then, her ascent within the research division of Dyad and, finally, an oblique mention of less than legal cloning experiments. It galled her how little surprise she read in Amir’s eyes at this admission and found herself falling silent when so bluntly faced with outcome of her past decisions; on the run, seeking refuge with a one-time lover who stood unmoved, unsurprised by her corruption.

And yet, of all the emotions coursing through her at that moment, Delphine knew that self-pity was wholly undeserved so she continued with her tale, gaze lowered. There it was, then, the part that made her voice catch, roughened by emotion, about a young woman unwittingly caught between the crosshairs of shadowy corporate factions, her body and the DNA enigma within a prize sought by unscrupulous men, her health rapidly deteriorating. Here Delphine had lifted her gaze, defiant and proud, had said “I love her, and I couldn’t let them hurt her anymore.” She had let herself feel some satisfaction then at the quirked eyebrows betraying surprise on both of their faces. Surprise at what, she was not sure - that she who had let corporate ambition lead her so far astray would be swayed by love, or the fact of her lover’s sex. And yet, she had to admit, she had failed in the end, her one desperate act of defiance naught but an empty gesture - while she impotently hid in a muddy village in the Balkans the woman she loved wasted away within the bowels of Dyad.

Amir and Selma had exchanged glances, and he silently poured her another drink, a tacit agreement contained in the gesture. Why they decided to help her, this near stranger, she didn’t know, but accepted their hospitality humbly. Amir agreed to use her bank card to withdraw money each time he went abroad during his weekly work trips, help her build up a stash she could use.. to do what, she didn’t know. As soon as her name appeared on a flight itinerary, she knew Dyad wouldn’t be far behind. Rachel had made herself abundantly clear without having to utter so much as a single word - come to heel lest you risk the same fate as Aldous, ashes unceremoniously interred with corporate efficiency. Even his son, estranged though he was, was not given a chance to attend and, Delphine had acknowledged with wry amusement, there would be even fewer people to ask questions about her own disappearance.

Except for.. Cosima. Her tongue slid across the consonants of her lover’s name like over rosary beads, an unanswered prayer. It haunted her, in the pre-dawn hours, in the syrupy darkness of Amir’s guest room, the same sepia-tinted dream; standing above Jennifer’s body with a scalpel in her hand, Cosima at her side, but as the abdominal cavity gives way with a sigh under her blade she looks up to see Rachel across from her and knows, even before lowering her eyes, even though she trying not to, that the face staring back at her from the autopsy table, lips bloodied, silently moving, is Cosima’s. With the red gash of Cosima’s lips still freshly painted behind her rapidly blinking eyes, her own hands fisted in sweat-soaked hair, Delphine knew that it was not the fear of Dyad that kept her from boarding the plane back to Toronto.

So she stayed at the farm, one gray day bleeding into another, had Amir buy disposable phones on each of his trips, send a text she would carefully write out on a piece of paper for him. Instructed him to shut off and dispose of the phone immediately, not wait for a response for, she told him, the fear of getting traced.

She liked to imagine a slim-fingered hand reaching for the green phone, scrolling to the text message icon, Cosima’s brow scrunched in puzzlement at the unknown number, then clearing as she reads the text. Delphine liked to imagine her smiling, that all-encompassing, cheek-stretching canine smile, turning wistful at the edges. Reaching for her laptop, looking up the area code, then glancing up at the map she had set up - Delphine had to think, where - the lab? The loft? - tracing her movements across Europe. Budapest last week, Hamburg the week before, now Bordeaux.

She imagined Cosima imagining _her_ in those places - was it a fanciful vision, Delphine in an outdoor cafe, cigarette between her lips, or a more noir one, hunched under an awning of a corner store in a seedy part of town, typing her message in a hurry? The chances were good, she knew, that Cosima may have envisioned an even more sinister version - Delphine in a crisp lab coat, Dyad emblazoned above her heart, dutifully typing in the message under Rachel’s watchful eye. And yet even that thought, with its sharp bite of shame and betrayal, was a comfort when faced with the other option, Delphine’s mind skittering away from it and yet unable to shake it; Cosima’s phone buzzing to life in a dark room, briefly illuminating a prone, unmoving figure, going unseen, unanswered.

Toronto might have meant danger and Dyad, but she knew that what kept her from boarding the plane to Canada, even as it became harder and harder to recall with clarity the full brilliance of Cosima's face upturned toward her, smiling, was the thought that the fading memory was all that was left to her.

And so she bid her time, walked the muddy countryside of her hosts' farm, observed in silence the easy, ordinary love shared by Amir and Selma, their devotion uncomplicated, unburdened by any but the most common of marital disagreements and allowed herself to unfurl, only when alone, only at night, the threadbare set of images, fraying at the edges: Cosima hovering above her, their faces inches apart, the love in her gaze unverbalized but no less bright; bent over a microscope, one hand unseeingly, haphazardly jotting down notes she would later have trouble deciphering, the other making minute adjustments to the instrument’s objective, unaware of how the exposed line of her neck had immobilized Delphine, rendered her dry-mouthed and breathless; Cosima asleep, limbs askew, naked and vulnerable but utterly at peace. The ache in her chest, a dull, persistent throb during daylight hours, would metastasize in these quiet moments, not soothed but fueled by the few happy memories left to her.

It was a relief, then, when Selma called out her name from the front door haltingly one day, an odd quiver in her voice, and Delphine ambled over to find a stone-faced man, his dress shoes sinking into the muddy ground, silently holding out a cell phone to her. ‘Marion’, the voice was sharp and clear in her ear, ‘from Topside, you are aware of Topside, Dr. Cormier? We want to bring you back to Toronto’. After a pause, slightly quieter, palpably warmer, ‘To Cosima’.

And now she stands here, twelve hours later, a lifetime, wearing the same loose, smoke-tinged sweater Selma had lent her a week prior, eyes bloodshot and hair greasy, staring down the alley at the end of which stood Felix’s flat.

Marion, in a voice that brokered no argument, in a tone Delphine had been so used to obeying, had given her very few details, preferring to speak in person upon her return. Rachel had been sidelined, she had said, and they had the utmost confidence that Delphine would be able to step in, take the cloning project in a new direction. And Cosima - Delphine had gripped the phone so tightly the edges left imprints in her palm - was alive, better, Marion either unwilling or unable to provide more detail.

And so she stands there, unmoving. It could have all been a lie, a tale told to make her docile, a final twist of Rachel’s knife deep in her gut. She had made peace with that possibility, had embraced it during the long flight back, expecting nothing else but to be whisked from the private jet straight to the cold corridors of Dyad. And yet, her driver passed the gleaming buildings of downtown and drove here, to the seedy east side of town, and waited, car silently idling, until she clumsily scrambled out clutching her purse to her chest.

Delphine runs her hand through her hair, exhales shakily. Takes a step forward, then another. The alley yawns seemingly endless before her. Another step. _Cosima._ Her breath hitches, chest constricting. Then she is running, the cold night air slicing into her chest with every inhale, graffitied walls passing into her peripheral vision in a blur. The iron gate at the front of the building opens with a clang when she runs into it and she stops at the bottom of the stairs feeling the impact of three weeks of heavy smoking, lungs heaving with exertion. She makes her way up slowly, groping at the walls for support, knees unsteady.

The loft door is cracked open, the faint music spilling out not loud enough to drown out the thundering in her ears, and she sways, lightheadedness coming on in a sudden wave. The trembling hand reaching out feels disembodied, not her own, but as she lays it against the door the cold jolts up her palm. Delphine stills for a moment, head bowed, then inhales and slides the door open.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Allow me to thank [ jaybear1701](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jaybear1701) and [arabybizarre](http://archiveofourown.org/users/arabybizarre/pseuds/arabybizarre) who have, after some serious whinging and puppy looks from yours truly, most graciously agreed to beta this for me. A note of wisdom here – if you want to get better at something, seek assistance from those who excel at it. They have tried their best to make this work a bit more presentable for public consumption, and if you do happen to find it readable, I have only them to thank for it. (Jaybear, especially, tried to make *some* sense of my ridiculous misuse of past tense here, but in the end it was a losing battle. Mea culpa.)
> 
> Finally, speaking of Jaybear, I'm on this web thing called ['tumblr'](http://tatarrific.tumblr.com/) now, in case you care.


	3. Homeward

Shay leans into her fingers, anticipating the low hiss of discomfort, then presses in deeper and smiles as the sound in the back of Cosima's throat becomes a moan of pleasure.

“Oh, that’s good.”  Cosima’s head lolls to the side, a cascade of dreads obscuring her face.  “Fuck.  Harder.”

Shay obliges with a chuckle, thumbs sliding along the ridge of Cosima’s shoulders.  They are seated on the floor of Felix’s apartment on a mid-week afternoon, the loft momentarily empty save for the two of them.  She is leaning against the couch with Cosima seated between her open legs , the scientist half-prone across a paper-covered coffee table.  The late afternoon sun is slanting through the arched windows, Etta James is piping in through the speakers and Shay relaxes into the last of her lingering high.  She hums along to the song, a sultry ode to arson, her own repose in counterpoint to the mess of knotty muscles she can feel under her hands.  “Didn’t I tell you that bending over all those books for hours will kill your neck?”

“Yah, well,” Cosima winces slightly at a particularly sore spot and she digs her thumbs in, focusing on the area, “I’d definitely sacrifice my neck to save my ass.”

Shay pauses for a moment, unsure if she should pursue the topic.  In the short span they've known each other, she sped through different relationship markers with Cosima at unusual speed - client, for a moment, a very cool person to know, immediately -- friend, with startling ease.

It has been only a week, and though she has spent pretty much every free moment at Felix’s loft, Shay can’t help but pause with wonderment at the patina of comfort and ease that pads this brand new relationship.  And yet, she has already learned that there are topics to avoid, ones that turn Cosima cagey, make her eyes blink rapidly as her gaze shifts away from Shay’s, make her speak in vague statements or dismiss with a terse ‘ _it’s complicated_ ’ -- her remarkable family, her job, her love life, her health.  

Given the list of no-nos, it is remarkable they have anything to talk about, but the conversations have flowed effortlessly from the very first day: from sufi poets to eastern philosophers, from thoughts on reincarnation to loftier discussions on mortality and spiritual beliefs.  Despite her easygoing San Francisco persona and stoner casualness, Cosima’s deceptively laid back attitude belies her almost clinical approach to dismantling weak arguments and calling people out on their bullshit.

“Well, you are in luck, darlin’.”  Shay slides her thumbs along the upper part of Cosima’s spine, feeling the strong lines of tendons and muscles beneath.  “I can’t do much for your ass, but my magic fingers can do wonders here.”

Cosima snorts, half turning, a smirk on her lips.  “That’s what _she_ said.”

It’s Shay’s turn to chortle, and she does so with incredulity.  “Seriously?  How old are you, again?”

This time Cosima turns fully, indignant.  “Aw, come on, dude - that was both funny _and_ contextually appropriate!”

“Funny is arguable, but that line is only appropriate for a thirteen year-old-,” Shay turns toward the familiar rattle of the loft’s door, wondering which character of the colorful entourage that haunts Felix’s loft will make an appearance,” -boy.”

The woman standing stock still in the doorway is not familiar to Shay but Cosima’s sudden stillness bespeaks a prior connection.

The newcomer is striking, Shay notes, despite the exhaustion smudged in dark circles under her eyes and apparent in the slump of her shoulders.  Blonde hair hangs about her shoulders in loose waves framing a pale face, her large, dark eyes staring unblinkingly at Cosima.  Shay notices details about the woman - the supple, knee-high boots, name brand purse and the heavy wool of the expensive coat draped over her shoulders.  The elegant exterior conflicts with the drabness of the hand-knitted sweater underneath, the chipped enamel on her fingernails, hair hung in greasy waves about her shoulders, hints at a difficult time.   

The three of them hang suspended in the tableau, Shay and Cosima in arrested half-repose on the floor, the scientist thrumming with tension under the hands Shay still has on her shoulders, the blonde, one arm braced against the doorway, swaying at the threshold.  Shay realizes that she’s holding her breath.  The tension between her friend and the woman is palpable, strung like a string between them, and then Cosima sags under her hands, exhales a word.

_“Delphine._ ”

And, like that, it unspools; there is a hitch of breath as Delphine's face crumples at Cosima's voice, a trembling hand raising to cover her mouth and Cosima is up, striding across the room. They meet halfway, bodies pressing, their hands reaching for each other – Cosima’s grip tight around the blonde woman’s waist, Delphine’s long-fingered hands a most gentle parenthesis around Cosima’s upturned face.  They gaze at each other mutely, feverishly, the only movement the soft caress of Delphine’s thumb against Cosima’s cheekbone and Shay shifts uneasily, an unwilling witness.

“Cosima-” Delphine’s voice breaks, eyes closing tightly, “I thought- I thought you were-”  She stops, shaking her head mutely, until a sob breaks free with a heave.  Cosima, eyes glistening behind glasses, pulls the blonde into her, arms closing a circle around Delphine’s shoulders.

“Shhhh, love.”  Cosima’s voice is soothing, belying the ferocity with which she holds Delphine.  “Shhhhh.  I’m here.  I’m here.”

The blonde pulls back, searching Cosima’s face.  “I thought you were dead.  I thought-”

“I know.”  It’s Cosima’s turn to shake her head, eyes blinking rapidly.  “Me, too.  After the texts stopped-”

A thumb gently runs across Cosima’s lips, silencing her, Delphine’s hand cupping her cheek, eyes moist.  There is a tremulous smile on Delphine’s face and Shay can hear Cosima sniffle, see her lips slowly mirror Delphine’s.

Shay stands mutely, gathering her phone and purse, and quietly walks toward the open door.  There are many questions, even as certain facts about her friend are starting to take shape but she knows, even before overhearing this exchange, that answers will have to be offered, not solicited.  She turns at the threshold and spares a last glance toward the couple - Cosima on tiptoe, her face upturned, hands threaded through the blonde’s hair, pulling her down; Delphine momentarily distracted, eyes cutting toward the door, “Who is that?”; “A friend.  Come here…” - before gently sliding shut the door.

  
  


* * *

 

  
The bed dips under their combined weight and Delphine arches up, pressing into the solid warmth of Cosima’s body above hers.  The feel of Cosima’s skin on hers is exquisite, and, overwhelmed, Delphine’s mind involuntarily flashes back to the cold, narrow confines of Amir’s guest bed, the echoing loneliness of her nights over the last month.  She had thought she would never see her lover again, never again splay her hands against soft flesh.  She opens her eyes, focusing on Cosima’s face inches away from hers, lips wet and bruised, tantalizingly close, and surges again into the smaller woman, chasing away the last vestiges of her memories.

Cosima, as if sensing her disquiet, pulls back, arms bracing against Delphine’s shoulders, and pushes her back onto the bed.  Her eyes are dark, hungry, but she quirks a lazy eyebrow as she straightens into a sitting position atop Delphine's hips, husks, “Don't move.”

And Delphine doesn't, can't, so she lies back onto the bed, the coolness of the satin sheets under her back a weak counterpoint to the heat of Cosima's center pressing against her stomach.  She lies, arms laid out in surrender at either side of her head, palms out, and observes through lidded eyes as Cosima slowly gathers her hair up, fastens the dreads into a messy, loose bun at the base of her neck.  Her skin is aglow, illuminated by dozens of candles they lit together, gazing at each other from across the span of Felix’s bed, each little flame springing alive bringing them closer to this, the union of skin on skin, and Delphine stares at her unabashedly, with hunger.  

Cosima gazes back, one finger gently tracing a path from Delphine’s cheek, across her lips and chin, down the curve of her neck, momentarily alighting upon a thrumming pulse point, only to continue lower.  It trails across a shoulder, back along the length of a clavicle, pausing, then descends down the valley between her breasts, feather light, further still and Delphine, shockingly close to being undone, arches upwards towards it, needing more.

“Shhhhh,” Cosima’s voice is low, and Delphine shivers, unsure of when her eyes slid closed.  She can  feel her nipples stand painfully erect.  “Relax.  Let me look at you.”

Tears prickle the backs of her eyelids unexpectedly and she screws her eyes closed tighter, sinks her teeth into her lower lip, fighting to keep her emotions in check.  She can _feel_ Cosima’s gaze on her skin, following the path of her finger, lingering, loving, lustful.  She feels herself unfurl under it, weeks of tension and loneliness and fear sluicing off, leaving only tender skin and longing behind.

The kiss that lands above her belly button is soft and feather light, paper-dry, and Delphine's breath hitches, hands flying to her eyes.  Heels of her palms press in, the riot of colors blooming behind her lids a pale facsimile of the emotions, of the need aroused by the next kiss, slightly bolder, slightly lower, then the next one, a brief nip of teeth against her hip bone soothed by a moist embrace of Cosima's mouth.

Delphine feels unmoored, set loose against the surge of buffeting emotions, torn asunder by each touch of Cosima's lips.  She reaches blindly, tangles her hands in Cosima's hair, pulls her up.

"Hey, you okay?"  It is the tenderness in Cosima's voice, in her touches, that plucks at the remaining vestiges of Delphine's composure and all Delphine can do is clutch at her, draw her down until Cosima settles atop of her, her slim body pinning her down, a tender anchor.  “Delphine?”

She feels herself overflow under Cosima’s gaze, and shakes her head mutely whispering, “Love me,” guides Cosima’s hand between her legs.  There is a crease of worry between Cosima’s brows but she obliges, eyes intent on Delphine’s face.  The brunette groans, eyes briefly flickering closed when she encounters wetness, but is sure-handed and Delphine throws her head back, eyes screwing shut at the strength, the fullness of Cosima’s fingers.

For a moment they stay still, arrested on the edge, and then Delphine exhales, _“Love me_ ,” feels the tendons of Cosima’s elbow flex under her hand, says “ _Harder,_ ” and they crash into each other.  She feels the sharp bite of teeth at the base of her neck, hips surging to meet each thrust of Cosima’s hand, and then there is no more thought, only Cosima under her hands, Cosima inside of her, above her.  She throws her head back, and thinks _comme ça, comme ça, comme ça_ , unspooling, unravelling, pulled back into a taught line under Cosima’s touch -- held -- then broken.

This time the tears fall freely and she laughs breathlessly, remembering, and feels Cosima’s smile on her cheeks, tender lips kissing the wetness away.  She is home.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah. Despite best efforts by my betas extraordinaires, jaybear1701 and arabybizarre, this has been sitting on my drive for, oh, a few months, unedited. Since it's so out of date at this point, I figured I'd just close the chapter on this story, so to speak - I apologize for the delay.


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